


Rewards for the Bold

by OwlEspresso



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Shower Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlEspresso/pseuds/OwlEspresso
Summary: Whilst Foulques takes great pleasure in schooling you on the training grounds, he's just as if not more enthusiastic to dominate in more... intimate spaces.
Relationships: Foulques/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Reader/Foulques
Kudos: 38





	Rewards for the Bold

**Author's Note:**

> This is also on my tumblr blog, owlespresso! I sometimes post additional headcanons as well.

The clang of metal split the warm evening air. Your eyes narrow as you press the blade of your lance tight to his own, lips curled into a tight frown.

“Your courage is plentiful,” Foulques praises. The elegant twine of his body ducks away from the contest of strength, and the momentum you pressed against his weapon works against you. An exclaimed curse heaves from your slightly chapped lips as you’re forced to stumble forward and catch yourself. However, by that time, the air at your side whooshes.

You freeze in place, left to stare into the thicket on the other side of the yard as the cold steel of his weapon presses ever so gently against your vulnerable throat.

“Yet, it will be useless to you if you throw all wit to the wind,” he admonishes. He allows the silent threat of his blade to rest in the air, a stagnant, deep reminder of what he could do should he breach the precious vein that rests underneath the thin layer of skin.

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, tilting your head away from the cold steel. He withdraws it a mere moment later, taking a small step back and waiting for you to climb to your feet. 

“You’re still used to the cumbersome weight of a broadsword or an ax,” he admonishes with a shake of his head. “How would your allies feel if they heard that the vaunted Warrior of Light fell to a dragoon whom the Ishgardians have not deigned to acknowledge?” His lips curl into a sardonic sneer as you right yourself. “Disappointed, I would think.”

“You should give yourself more credit. Ishgard doesn’t know what they’re missing.” You press the blunt flat of your lance into the rich soil and lean on it, looking to him with a raised brow. “Them being too up their bums to let you in says more about them than it does about you.”

“Naturally,” Foulques gives an amused snort, before he directs his gaze towards the porch, idly roaming over the side of your small cottage in the Lavender Beds. “Speaking of acknowledgement, shouldn’t they have gifted the hero of the realms an abode more fitting of the title?”

“I don’t need a mansion,” you said, lifting your lance as you strode up to the door, bouncing up the couple of stairs to the polished wooden deck. “It would just be a big house that I leave empty for days or weeks at a time.”

“You asked for this trite, unremarkable abode? Somehow that fails to surprise me,” Foulques ribs playfully.

“Oh, bugger off. I don’t need bells and whistles to be happy,” you inform him, propping up your lance next to the sliding door, before entering the house. You wipe your boots on the worn welcome matt, shooting him a pointed look. 

“Admirable, I suppose,” he drawls, following your instructions with a languid smirk before sliding out of them, socked feet padding against the polished wooden floor. The door to the porch leads to your small, cozy kitchen, complete with all the modern appliances you could ask for. It’s a mostly open floor plan, one that allows you to easily trot into the living room and into the tiny corridor that leads to the bathroom. 

His heavy footfalls thud behind you, an ever constant reminder of his presence. The way he’s stuck to you like moss to a rock singularly unveils his intentions. Your lips curl into the smallest of smiles, a flash of heat rolling down to your gut. The throbbing adrenaline shifts seamlessly into arousal. 

“You’ll be joining me, I assume?” you glance over your shoulder at him, coy, eyelashes fluttering in a way you hope is seductive. You push open the bathroom door at the same time, revealing the open space. It’s a large room with grey marbled flooring. A vanity sits to the left side of the room, complete with a full counter and sinks whilst the shower is to the right, partitioned off by a glass wall. In the easternmost corner is a large bathtub with a single step leaving up to it. The toilet has its own, much smaller room. The door to it sits next to the vanity. It’s perhaps the most luxurious room in the house, and you really don’t mind that. 

A variety of soaps, lotions and specialty skincare products sit along the bathtub counter and atop the corner shelf in the shower.

“It would be remiss of me to neglect you after spending the last hour kicking your poor hide across the yard.” he says as you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it above your head and tossing it haphazardly atop one of the two towel racks. He does not hide the hunger in his gaze as he looks you up and down, gaze softening at the sight of your exposed torso. 

“Well, enjoy being smug while you still can,” you snip, sliding your arms out of your bra straps. You move to turn the garment around to unclasp it, but the sudden weight of two hands on your shoulders stops you in place. 

“Allow me,” he murmurs, suddenly so much closer. The low timbre of his voice practically brushes against your skin. The warmth of his body near envelops you from behind as you lean into him, eyes shutting. Long, calloused fingers reach for the strap of fabric pressed to your back, nimbly unclasping it. The phantom brushes of his touch against your skin caused you to give a wanting shudder. Your eyes lull shut, head tilting backwards to rest upon his broad shoulder. 

His chin brushes against your temple, another reminder of the stark contrast in your height. He can curl around you entirely. 

Your bra falls to the ground in a heap of cloth. The light thump jolts you from your contentedness, snapping you forward so you can shimmy out of your trousers. It puts you a few ilms away from his body, but you placate yourself with the knowledge that you’ll be naked and close enough to him within mere moments. The sound of shifting cloth lets you know he’s decided to follow your example. He doesn’t take nearly as much care with his garb, leaving his clothes in a heap on the tiled floor. 

“You’re gonna have to pick those up,” you remind him, bending over the edge of the tub to reach for the shower handle. The spray erupts from the head and you snap back, yet not quick enough to avoid being hit by a slight spray of lukewarm water. 

“Of course,” he drawls, taking a step forward to press against your back for the second time. It’s as though he can’t bear to be away from you for longer than a few moments, attracted the sweet siren call of your body. His hands roam up and down your sides, large palms settling upon your hips before they wander upwards. “I’m not going to leave my filth all over your luxurious abode, but forgive me if I am unable to ignore the sight of the most beautiful, powerful woman in the realms bare in front of me.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” you inform him, lips pursed. 

“I argue it already has.” He retorted, and there was precious little you could say to disagree with him. You had opened your home, body and soul to him, after all. And those weren’t decisions you regretted yet. 

“Well, let it get you a step further into the bath so you can wash off,” you reply, stepping over the marble edge of the tub to settle beneath the spray. “You’re stinky.” Your nose wrinkles. He scoffs at your juvenile retort, but follows nonetheless, massive form hulking behind you. 

“Which one of these charming little trinkets shall we put to use?” He browses over the selection of cute little soaps rested atop a shelf nestled in the corner. They look more decorative than anything. You typically wouldn’t succumb to frivolous spending, but they’re shaped like shells and the saleswoman who had been peddling them was just so friendly—

“Any one you want,” you shrug and grab a bar of lavender soap, hastily beginning to lather up. You have a feeling he didn’t tag along for the sole purpose of washing off, so you need to get as clean as you damn well can before he gets antsy. He already side eyes you as he grabs a random bar, that sharpened gaze straying over your exposed chest, drifting in between your legs. His attention is unsubtle, desire undisguised as he admires you, looking you thoroughly up and down. 

You speedly drench yourself in soap, scrubbing every nook and cranny in your reach. Your fingers glide over your sides and underneath your arms, the sweat of your hard work swept away underneath the merciful, warm water. Your aching muscles begin to loosen, a soft sigh rolling from your lips. To tell the truth, you’re surprised he’s lasted this long without getting frisky. It’s physical exertion and adrenaline that usually arouses Foulques. You spare him a cautious glance—and your breath stalls in your lungs.

His intense, gleaming gaze makes the crux of your legs thrum with gooey arousal, hands trembling. His eyes look like they’re glowing, a predator among the nighttime underbrush.

“You look like you could use some help,” he huffs from behind you, thoroughly amused. His large, strong hands reach from behind you, soapy palms pressing tight to your nipples. His callouses are rough against your skin, sparks of pure pleasure making your back arch into his touch. He gives both nipples a brief, abet hard squeeze. An undignified squeal from your throat, body jolting and wiggling against his well-muscles torso.

“You’re not exactly helping!” you protest, though there’s no bite behind it. His strong thigh nestles in between yours. You roll your hips, greedy for the friction. It’s slippery at best, and the lack of satisfaction makes your lips curl into a frustrated frown. Arousal still licks hot and heavy at your wetting cunt. You brace a hand against the tiled wall to give yourself leverage, pushing unabashedly against his leg. The other reaches back to squeeze at the thick meat of high thigh, savoring the pure muscle you feel there, sculpted from years of hard work and dragoon jumps.

“And you’re already so desperate for me,” he says, having the nerve to sound vaguely amused. Just like that, he removes his hands from your person. A sudden chill laves over you at the lack of contact, but before you can whip around and give him a peace of your mind, his grip returns to your thighs. The head of his cock, girthy and plush, drags against your outer folds… and then retreats backwards as he rolls his hips.

Your brain stalls, thoughts jamming together until you realize that—ah, he’s thigh fucking you. The unrepentant bastard has the nerve to continue lathering you up as he does so, big hands cleaning your upper thighs before sliding along your cunt.

“Bugger off,” you grumble, angling your arm backwards to push away from him. “You stick to your side of the shower if you’re gonna be a right bastard about it, ‘cause neither of us is gonna get clean like this.”

“Pity. I thought you’d rise to the challenge,” he ribs, attempting to lure you closer with ire alone. You don’t fall for it.

“Oh, I’ll ride you into next week… after I’m proper clean.” Your clipped tone leaves no room for argument, and he thankfully leaves you alone for the rest of the duration. The conversation slows, but grows softer. He asks after your wellbeing, your plans for the future, shows you a tenderness that he reserves for you and only you. It’s difficult to come to terms with the fact that this is the same man who carved through the entire Lancer’s Guild, knocking every fighter onto their arses without second glance. 

He had the mark of a ruthless fighter, but could be an impeccable lover given the right circumstances. There’s still some in his heart that needs to heal, but you’re admittedly proud of the progress he’s made… and glad he’s decided to use your cabin as shelter rather than tough it out in the wilderness. He has a key. You trust him implicitly.

Your gaze roams over the steep length of his exposed body, admiring how his muscles flex and shift with every movement. His long fingers roll across the expanse of his chest, spreading scented suds over his darkened skin.

It’s pure agony to look away from him, but it only takes another few moments to be satisfied with your fervent scrubbing and shampooing. You hop out of the shower, snatching a towel from the rack and opening the door before breaking into a sprint. Foulques gives a surprised shout as you vanish into the interior of the house, your pulse racing as you scurry up to the bedroom. You hastily towel off on your way. It’s hard to be bothered by the wet patches on your skin when you know you’ll be getting filthy all over again in a matter of minutes.

Heavy footsteps thud behind you as you reach the door to your bedroom, throwing it open. He hadn’t even the chance to sling a towel around his waist, cock still tight and erect against his toned stomach. 

“Sorry,” you say, but don’t really mean it. The mischievous smirk that curls onto your lips is meant to further rile him up, convince him to take you here and now lest he decide to tease again. You’re sure you’ll implode if he tries to drag it out any further. “Just couldn’t bear to wait any longer.” The plush mattress squeaks when you plop your entire body atop it, shuffling backwards to press against the practical nest of pillows at the headboard.

“Cheeky little thing,” he huffs, approaches the bed with a swagger all too typical to him. His steps are slow, measured, meant to tease by withholding contact from you. Your eyebrows nettle into the slightest of scowls. The resolve to look nonplussed swiftly begins to crumble by the time he reaches the edge of the bed and crawls onto it, cock hanging proudly between his shapely thighs. 

You reach over and grab the bottle of lube before he even reaches you, hoping to save precious moments. The sooner he’s in between your legs fully, the better. 

“Always so eager for my cock,” Foulques huffs, snatching it from your grasp. You follow the movement of his long fingers as he unscrews the cap and douses his fingers in a healthy heaping of it. “If I didn’t know any better, I would assume this is the only reason you keep me around.”

“You know that’s not true,” you pout.

“Mmm? Is that so?” he drawls. He’s above you now, one hand sinking into the pliant, plush mattress whilst the other wanders soulwards, teasing your slicked folds before prodding your entrance. Before you can even answer, he slides one of his long fingers inside, prompting you to gasp and cant your hips. Your body near swallows him down, walls pulsating around just one finger.

Dimly, you realize he’s asked that question just to watch you struggle to form a reply. Bastard. 

Gasps bounce against the four walls of your small room, and you can’t think of anything beyond the hot press of his mouth and fingers to your skin. He’s leaned down, sucking bold marks onto your neck whilst you’re too fucked out to object. Desperate for something to grab, you clutch onto his shoulders, hips rolling as he adds a second finger and curls them, making your eyes damn near roll back. 

He looks up at you, even whilst he busies his mouth with your chest. The flat of his tongue rolls over a nipple before his lips curl around it, giving a pointed suck. You wiggle and whine, arching your entire body into his ministrations. His blunt teeth grate against the firming bud, the perfect amount of gentility and roughness that makes your toes curl. 

The slickness of your walls stretches around his fingers as he finally adds a third. You’re quaking, squirming, aching and longing for release. One of your hands flies towards your clit, but he’s already beaten you there. His thumb presses against the bundle of nerves with perfected pleasure, a skill honed after so many sessions. 

You wail and spasm around his fingers, pleasure rolling down your spine, into the very tips of your toes. It’s impossible to tell how long you hang there, trapped in the fall of your orgasm. He fucks you through it, powerful digits hitting that same, incredible spot over and over again. It ends with you limp against the sheets, gasping, pulling air desperately into your lungs. The dimming, yet vivid natural light glimpses of the side of his face, casting him in a vibrant glow.

“Beautiful,” Foulques purrs, eyelids dipping low. His relaxed expression resembles a fed cat, lounging in a spot of sun below a wide window. The heated, throbbing length of his cock rubs against your inner thigh, pointedly heading towards your sopping folds. Your eyes shut, lips parted around a groan as the thick, girthy tip pressed to your entrance. He rolls his hips, drawing your slick up and down your exposed pussy. 

Sparks of overstimulation tease from your core to dance up and down your spine, prompting you to roll your head back. Staring up at the ceiling, you’re distantly aware of the bed creaking as he reaches for something—only to hear the telltale sound of a bottle popping open. 

“Fuck me already,” you gasp, blindly reaching for him. Your patience runs short as the beginnings of pleasure raw warm you all over again, wet walls clenching around nothing as you long for his touch. 

“Have I ravaged you so thoroughly that the word ‘please’ evades you?” he taunts, low and heavy at your ear. His voice grates, hoarse with his own wanting, but he holds himself firm in place, perhaps a testament to his discipline… or his commitment to tormenting you as much as possible. 

“Please!” Your shrill cry pierces the still air, nails grating against his dark skin as you reach for him, desperately attempting to pull him down to you. “Foulques, stop being such an arse and—”

He cuts you off by plunging his hips forward, tip breaching your tender walls with no warning. You wriggle and writhe against the sheets, your body struggling to decide whether it wants to move closer or flee the stimulation. Your words garble, toes curling as he works you open. The smooth glide of him inside stops as the tip fully rests within you, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” you say, coherency all but flown out the window, like half your brain’s already been fucked out of you. 

He catches the back of your knees with his large hands, pushing them backwards. Your body bends, back pressed tight to the bed. There’s nowhere to turn, to flee. Your sight is consumed with the vision of him. He looks nearly as fucked out as you, locks tousled, lips parted around quiet pants and stifled groans. His eyes, though, gleam vibrant against the whites of his eyes. It’s a mating press, your bodies pressed flush together. Your eyes shut, each breadth a shuddering gasp as he hilts. The hard line of his cock presses deep inside of you, brushing against all your most sensitive places.

For a long, agonizing moment, he lingers there. You don’t know whether it’s to allow you to get used to his size or to draw your pleasure further, but you’re wiggling in mere moments despite the sheer size and burn of him. It’s nothing you’ve not taken before.

“Foulques!” you whine, bleary eyes opening. You feel yourself clench around him. “Fuck me, please!” There’s nowhere else to look. His form eclipses the rest of the room, giving you full view of his thinning pupils. 

He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward with unparalleled viciousness and oh fuck, that’s deep. How does it manage to surprise you each time? Such sanguine pleasure coupled with pain surely shouldn’t be this real, this present. His voice emerges in growls and praises, gone low with pleasure. You do your best to cant your hips, attempting to meet each pointed thrust, but his grip on you is firm and unyielding, holding you to the mattress in a way that only makes you wetter. 

Fresh slick gushes from your worked open hole. One of your hands slides down his arm, squeezing shamelessly at the muscle build there before it wanders in between your body, fingers playing at your clit. Your cries only grow louder, eyes rolling, the push and pull coating your entire form with a blessed warmth.

“Right there!” you gasp, your cries growing strained. He only rides you faster, head dipping down to seal his teeth over your collarbone. Hurried kisses, nips and bites decorate your sweat-slicked skin as he marks you. The pain of it only builds the pressure gathering between your legs higher, your orgasm already at your heels. It’s molten hot, it’s electricity that skitters up and down your body, over your already exhausted nerves. “Oh, oh god!” 

“Cum for me,” he gasps, scrambling for some sort of composure. His rhythm staggers uneven, a telltale sign of his oncoming orgasm. “Cum for me like the filthy harlot you are!” 

The hand still on his shoulder rakes down his back, and that’s enough to set him off. He spills inside of you, hot cum spraying your walls and spilling out around his cock. He fucks you through it, even with his eyes squeezed shut and his arms trembling. His left hand knocks yours away, calloused pads of his fingers pressing tight to your clit, stealing the breath from you. 

“Cum,” he growls again, vicious pace resuming.

Your climax spills over you, the delirious haze of pleasure swallowing you from head-to-toe. Your eyes open wide, body writhing and wriggling helplessly against the bunched blankets. He holds you through it, whilst your walls grip and spasm around him, hugging him tight as though you never want him to leave.

It leaves you exhausted, aching, loose-limbed… and satisfied. You melt into the blankets, ready to bask in the afterglow. Foulques pulls out a moment later, the sudden chill and raw feeling of emptiness making your nose wrinkle with displeasure. A shiver rolls up your bare body, but the problem of temperature is remedied when he plops at your side, an arm wrapping around your middle.

“It’s quite reassuring to know that the only poor level of skill you have is in lancing,” he mumbles into your hair, earning a scowl. 

“Stuff it.” you grumble, earning a small laugh. “Either learn how to pillow talk the right way or don’t do it at all.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he concedes. His thumb begins to rub is small, steady circles over your stomach. “You were incredible. Never have I seen someone writhe in such a beautiful, worm-like fashion—that was a simple jest,” he assures you before you can even raise a hand to smack him. “There is nary a sight in the realms that can compare to you in the throes of pleasure. I trust that suffices?”

“We’ll have to workshop it a little,” you reply, exhaling softly. “But for the time being? Not bad.”

He doesn’t deign to reply. A comfortable quiet settles in between you two, the room smelling of sex and warmth whilst the vibrant sun’s light shifts further and further south. You know you’ll have to get up, soon. You know he’ll insist on washing again, but that’s minutes away. And minutes can stretch into miles if you opt to not anticipate what the future will bring. So, you settle back and rest your cheek to the side of his chest, shut your eyes, and savor the cocoon of heat you’ve made for yourselves.


End file.
